Crying at Weddings
by Lady Alyssa
Summary: Set after the end of the book, Merry goes through some difficult times. *slash*
1. Crying at Weddings

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me and neither does the poem – if they did do you really think I'd be writing slash on the Internet and not making any money out of it?  
  
  
  
…honestly I wish I were dead  
  
She wept as she was leaving me.  
  
Shedding many tears she said to me:  
  
"Oh, what a terrible unhappiness is ours!  
  
Sappho, I swear I'm leaving you against my will."  
  
And to her I made this answer:  
  
"Go, and fare well, and remember me."  
  
Sappho, Fr. 94  
  
I'm not going to cry. I've seen worse than a wedding in my life, and although I cried then, I shouldn't cry now. It's my best friend's wedding, I'm not supposed to cry; I'm supposed to drink more ale than is good for me and try to kiss the bridesmaids, but not cry. But I can't not.  
  
I saw the tears in his eyes when he turned to me to take the ring to give to his new wife and I tried to smile at him, to be happy for him, but I can't be happy for him when he isn't. Everyone thought that it was so touching that the great adventurer wasn't ashamed to show emotion at his wedding, but it would sicken them if they knew the real emotions behind his tears. They would to throw us out of the Shire if they knew what we had done last night.  
  
I just wanted to take him into my arms again and tell him everything would be all right, but I couldn't with the whole Shire watching us – it's not every day that the Thain's only son gets married and even if they aren't all there in person, they'll hear about it from someone, or someone who knows someone, in the next few days. Perhaps it's a shame we didn't give them something more interesting to discuss than Diamond's dress.  
  
Sam was there of course, with Rose who is pregnant again – their fourth. Backslapping and suggestive raising of eyebrows all round. It's amazing the way Sam has settled into society since inheriting Bag End, as if he also inherited the confidence fitting for the master of such a grand hole, or maybe it was just so like old times. Except that it wasn't like old times, not without Frodo. Sam seems to have forgotten him, settling into marriage, fatherhood and proper hobbit sense as comfortably as his old travelling cloak. It'll be Pippin next, he swears he won't, but in a few months I'll be all but forgotten too.  
  
Last night he said that it wouldn't have to mean that we couldn't see each other any more, and that we wouldn't have to stop being lovers either, but it's difficult to take someone seriously when you can hardly make out their words because they've got their face pressed into the side of your neck and they're crying so hard that you can feel the tears soaking into you. Last night I didn't cry, I didn't even want to because I knew that he needed to do this. I wanted to be the grown up, the way I have all these years, hoping that if I could let him go without making a fuss it would make it easier for him. So I let him go to a woman who loves him less than I do and who he doesn't love in return, or at least he doesn't now and I hope he won't. I want him to be happy – I want both of them to be happy – but I don't want him to love her more than me.  
  
When he told me what his father was making him do I even thought about finding her and killing her, but it wouldn't have solved anything. They would only have found another girl and I would have been locked away and never allowed to so much as talk to him again. Perhaps if I never saw him again it would be easier. No, it wouldn't, because even if he isn't there I will continue to see him inside of my mind. I will remember him the last time we were together and how he cried; I wish it could be a better memory, but that will be the one that remains.  
  
I just want to protect him from this, to wish it away and make him forget as I always have. Life has never been fair to him, he had to grow up too fast and see too much even for someone much older, and I thought that now fate might give him a chance, but yet again a ring has to spoil all our plans.  
  
So I congratulate the happy couple, drink to their health and long life and watch them take their first dance together as husband and wife without any bitterness. The bitterness will come later when I'm old and have someone else's grandchildren on my knee. The tears will come later too, tonight when I'm alone and will allow them to, but not now, this is their day and I won't spoil it for them by crying – I'll leave that to Pippin. 


	2. Crying at Funerals

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me – if they did do you really think I'd be writing slash on the Internet and not making any money out of it?  
  
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Crying at Funerals  
  
Everyone cries at funerals, it's allowed, especially when it's your father who's died. But I'm not going to cry, not now, not in front of everyone. It wouldn't do for the Master of Buckland to make such a spectacle of himself in public.  
  
It's only now that I finally realise the weight of the title. I'd been the Master in all but name for months now, but only truly for the last five days. I hadn't ever really believed it would happen, he was old, but not ancient and right up until the end I thought he would get better. I thought this would just be a practice, a few weeks of running things when he was still around to give me advice so that I had some experience that I would be grateful for in ten years or so.  
  
I was there with him at the end. There with him and mother, who everyone thinks will follow him soon, even though I don't think he really knew it. I didn't cry then either, partly from relief, but mainly because I felt there had to be someone who wasn't crying and there were so many things to do. I had to make arrangements for someone to make a coffin and for someone to dig the grave and write letters to all of our relatives about when the funeral would be. I did everything except lay him out; mother did that because I don't have any sisters, but I thought I would have to help her with that too.  
  
Pippin turned up early on Wednesday morning; he must have left almost as soon as he got the letter. It had rained all night and when he arrived he came straight to my rooms to find me and hug me he dripped rainwater all over the papers on my desk. He's still the same old Pippin even if he looks different, having filled out considerably in the last few years and started to get a few grey hairs. He looks like a father now, except that his eyes look red – our families were always close.  
  
We haven't seen as much of each other in the last few years, although a friendly, and sometimes much closer, relationship has been maintained, especially since the birth of his son. He and Diamond haven't lain together since then; the birth nearly killed her and he hardly dares touch her now in case he ends up with her death on his conscience. She didn't come to the funeral, she said that she didn't want to take the child on such a long journey when it could start to snow any day, but I think that in her heart she knows and wants to give us some time alone together. Or maybe she's just too disgusted to come near us.  
  
Between his arrival and the funeral we stayed together, hardly ever even touching the way we usually would, but just drawing strength from each other's presence and curling up in each other's arms at the end of the day. I would say to sleep, but I slept little, even when it was not my turn to sit and watch over my father's body. I still can't quite bring myself to think about how it's in the ground now; he never did like the cold and there was always a roaring fire in his study from October til April. I think that's what they call irony.  
  
It started snowing within an hour of the burial when we were inside, trying to make polite, almost cheery conversation over the funeral tea. It's strange, but no matter how close your extended family is, there are always some who you only ever see at weddings and funerals. They all know who I am though. I suppose that's something I should have got used to, but I never have. Receiving visitors was never really something I enjoyed and now I could definitely do with being alone. Well, not quite alone.  
  
I think he can tell how I feel. Not through any supernatural means, but just because we've spent so much time together we can read each other perfectly. He's been hovering close to me, though for once he doesn't speak – he doesn't know what to say. But now he comes closer with a glass of sherry for me and when he puts it into my hand his fingers brush against mine for just a second too long and he looks into my eyes. Maybe he has to go back to his family tomorrow, but for tonight at least he'll be there for me. 


End file.
